i wasn't exactly lying, i was choosing between truths
by ten.years.only.with.you
Summary: love is octavia because augustus had a sister, but he had a wife too/bellarke


_I wasn't lying exactly, I was just choosing between truths. _

x

he's never had a thing for blondes.

or girls with blue eyes.

(it's blindsiding that kind of beauty. the kind that strangles the sun, brings an entire kingdom to its knees, starts and ends battles for all of eternity.

almost like some kind of angel, until she smiles and he knows he'd love her more than the devil loves hell.)

x

he's never had a thing for strong women.

ones with opinions and voices so loud that deafen his own. ones that wield swords and knives, twirling between nimble fingers. ones that aren't afraid and face the rest of the world with piss and vinegar in their eyes and defiance on their mouths.

(he's absolutely fucking terrified of her.

the way she throws all her supple curvatures and plaits of golden mane back like a lioness. she kills men and doesn't flinch, ends an empire and grins, breaks a heart and reaches for another one.

she's a goddamn hurricane and he's right under her eyes.)

x

he's never had a thing for intelligence.

it makes him feel like an idiot because he was never one of the privileged elite in the sky. here on the ground he may be king, but it's not because he can work the fields or count the stars or measure the tenacity of the wire versus the spark in his hands. he's not a doctor or an officer of the court or an engineer.

(she makes him feel smart.

he has a way with words. putting them together and making sure they stick together at any cost. the way that they roll over his tongue and land with a shattering impact. she stands nearby, so close that her cloying scent of earth, juniper, and fresh water suffocates, her head tilted to the angle urging him onward.

he may inspire the masses, but she inspires him.)

x

he's never been one for anyone but his sister.

Octavia is born and she swallows him whole like the ocean.

he loves her more than he thinks anyone should ever be allowed to love someone. the kind of love that eats away morality, erases reason and logic. ultimatums become a regular decision in his day to day living. he does not flinch when a barrel is hot in his hands and another's blood is slick on the pads of his fingers.

he's always done everything he has to protect his sister. his life began the day she was born.

(he's not sure when she weaseled her way into his world.

probably somewhere between _get clarke whatever she needs_ and _I need you_, but definitely before the name princess sounded caressed between his lips instead of like a curse those first sun drenched days on earth.

he prays to a diety he isn't sure exists that he never has to choose between saving his sister and saving her. he isn't sure how to split himself in two just yet.)

x

he's never liked physical contact with anyone besides O.

on the ground, it's all hurried and rushed. quick hugs and reassuring pats on the arm of comfort. wrenching wrists and backhanded slaps of worry. sometimes guns and spears become extensions of fingers and tossed ration packets, valued blankets are sly hugs.

he sleeps with many girls and feels bland skin on skin. a means to an end is all humanity is sometimes. it's all physical contact is sometimes. no need for it to carry any more weight than it doesn't already.

(she disarms him more times than he can count.

a hand on the shoulder with more force than necessary burns holes in his shirt, sears his freckled collarbone. her lithe fingers upon his hand, stark white against cocoa brown. the flush of her chest heaving as he carries her limp body to the dropship, heat curling in his stomach and burning through his veins.

ultimately, it's that one embrace that makes the earth quake, makes his steps stutter and his entire core rattle. her lips on his neck, brushing against the raven curls, tasting salt and mud. arms grasping at him, trying to snake their away around his entire body, and lord she is so tiny in comparison that he wraps her up in him, all large whip around, smelling her hair and skin just all of _clarke_.

he knees quiver beneath him, mocking and teasing as he laughs into her clavicle, commits the column of her neck and the graceful slash of her hips rocking upon his to memory. it's enough to last a lifetime.)

x

he's never thought he was wrong, like ever.

sure he's had some pretty stupid ideas that he's carried out, mostly at the expense of others, but even then, his reasoning was justifiable.

even if Octavia didn't agree with him, bellamy would chalk it up to being the smarter older brother with more experience. there was never room for argument and he isn't used to somebody pushing back. partly because there was never anyone ever pushing back and partly because he's not going to fight with someone when he already knows he's doing something correct. it's pointless.

(he's wrong. _all. the. time_.

except when he's right and he is never rewarded for it. just a quick flit of a grin and a warm palm on his jacket sleeve catching fire in his blood.)

x

he's never been in love, nor does he want to be, nor will he ever.

all of his heart had been eaten up a long time ago back when he could count constellations through his windows and touch the moon in his bedsheets. love is red ribbons and masquerade balls gone awry. love is sacrificed rations and storybooks through floorboards. love is a girl with his freckles and his mother's eyes, believing that he set time in motion and has the ability to start and stop it at will.

love is Octavia because Augustus had a little sister too.

(it's not really a big deal. it doesn't hit him like grounder spear or the fear and vastness of open space, being suffocated by green forests or too white cells.

after days and weeks and months on earth love is blonde plaits of hair and blue eyes, dirty and matted but still more blindingly lovely than the sun and the sky and the whole of earth encompassed. love is strength and wisdom when it isn't being given to anyone else or for anyone else. love is apologetic and meaning it, even if it is gritted out between clenched teeth and balled fists. love is silent conversations and flicks of nods overhead, hands brushing together and steps in sync. love is worrying for someone besides O, needing someone besides O.

Augustus had Octavia but Augustus also had a wife.)

x

bellamy blake doesn't have a thing for blondes or blue eyes or strength or intelligence or defiance or humanity.

(he has a thing for clarke griffin.)

x

bellamy blake doesn't fall in love, nor does he want to, nor will he.

(_now there's something I thought I'd never see_, O whispers, smiling gracing her features.

her big brother laughs into the girl's collarbone, the taste of her skin still on his tongue and his blood burning in his veins.)


End file.
